{"id":723,"date":"2010-06-26T09:59:00","date_gmt":"2010-06-26T09:59:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ink.verticalplus.co.uk\/archive\/?p=723"},"modified":"2010-06-26T09:59:00","modified_gmt":"2010-06-26T09:59:00","slug":"two-new-poems-from-heidi-williamson","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/two-new-poems-from-heidi-williamson\/","title":{"rendered":"Two new poems from Heidi Williamson"},"content":{"rendered":"

Woodcutter<\/span>

In a school room, the woodcutter<\/span>
had come for the children. <\/span>

Every wolf that he could muster,<\/span>
the bears, the dwarves, the witches<\/span>

herded them into the darkened forest. <\/span>
Once there, they tried to be small <\/span>

as birds, quieter, one feather <\/span>
pressed to their beaks. <\/span>

They practised soaring<\/span>
against the sound of metal. <\/span>

The adults began to sing softly, <\/span>
cooed like infants to still the flapping. <\/span>

The woodcutter stalked the oaks<\/span>
and called to them with his shiny voice. <\/span>

The children lay their heads <\/span>
beneath their wings and waited<\/span>



Snakes<\/span>

Your snakeskin gloves lie <\/span>
furled on the hall table. <\/span>

They\u2019ve nested there <\/span>
through Spring and Summer. <\/span>

Now the cold is catching up, <\/span>
your hands are elsewhere, exposed <\/span>

or covered by unknown gloves,<\/span>
unknown hands. <\/span>

Your gloves are hibernating. <\/span>
I haven\u2019t the power to wake them. <\/span>

The hall is a cave I cross<\/span>
avoiding their slow-pulsed stare. <\/span>



* Heidi Williamson<\/span> is a Norfolk-based poet with an interest in science. In 2008-2009 she was poet-in-residence at the London Science Museum\u2019s Dana Centre. In 2008 she received an Arts Council grant to complete her first poetry collection, which is due out from Bloodaxe Books in 2011.<\/span>
<\/font><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

WoodcutterIn a school room, the woodcutterhad come for the children. Every wolf that he could muster,the bears, the dwarves, the witchesherded them into the darkened forest. Once there, they tried to be small as birds, quieter, one feather pressed to their beaks. They practised soaringagainst the sound of metal. The adults began to sing softly, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-723","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/723","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=723"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/723\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=723"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=723"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=723"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}